I swallow down my fury at my mother’s comments. I know she’s concerned about my father and what’s going to happen about the Alden family legacy. I get it.
“Leave Iris out of this,” I say, through gritted teeth.
And then realization dawns again. She met Iris. She saw us together. Maybe she suspects how deep we were in, and she worries that it’s Iris I’ll choose to be my Mrs. Alden. And worse, that I might move to Colorado. My lifetime’s preparation forlegacy and duty would all be for nothing if I marry some fruit farmer’s daughter and go live in Colorado.
My mother sighs. “I’m only having this conversation with you because your father can’t. There must be no more procrastination, Jack. A Christmas engagement and a June wedding.” She says it like it’s a certainty. Like she can decide the dates of my engagement and marriage even before I’ve found the woman I want to marry.
Except I have found her. What I feel for Iris can’t be replicated. I know in my bones that I’ll never feel for anyone the way I feel about Iris.
The thought of being with anyone else makes me sick to my stomach.
My mother asks as she puts her cutlery down after finishing her scallops, “Did you enjoy your appetizer?”
I’ve barely touched my food. “I’m not particularly hungry, Mother.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the chicken salad delightful. I think I’ll set up a dinner with the Campbells.” She fixes me with a look. “You need to make a decision.”
Panic circles my ankles, anchoring me to the floor.
I don’t want to marry someone suitable. I want to marry the woman I love. I want Iris. The last few weeks without her have been empty and I miss her every second. I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this for the rest of my life. I certainly can’t marry someone else.
I just need to get away. From my mother. From New York. Away from everything.
THIRTY-FIVE
Iris
I’m at the kitchen table, on my laptop, going through the expenses from this time last year and working out whether any of them could be reduced. I’ll have to speak to Dad and Bray, obviously, but we need to do something if we’re going to maintain margins.
My dad and Bray are watching football, although my dad is also doing a crossword. He rarely just watches TV. Says he wants to keep his brain sharp.
Out of nowhere, the TV switches off.
I lift my gaze to the living area. “Is the power out?” I ask.
Bray is looking at my dad like he’s lost it. “No, Dad just turned it off.”
Dad sets down his newspaper. “Yeah, I need to speak to the two of you about something.”
“Can we finish the game first?” Bray asks.
“No,” Dad replies simply. “Get over here. We need a family meeting.”
“Family meeting?” That’s not a thing around here. I can’t ever remember a family meeting being called.
“We were watching the game,” Bray says.
“The Broncos are going to lose,” Dad says. “You don’t need to see the end of the game to know that. Now, get your ass over here, Iris.”
Bray groans. I snap my laptop shut and go over to the couch.
“I’ve been thinking about a few things,” Dad says.
“Uh-oh,” Bray says. “Thinking is overrated.” He grins widely but my dad is unimpressed, and his mouth is set in a thin straight line.
I take a seat next to Dad.
Dad glances between the two of us, his gaze resting on Bray. “You’re fired,” he says.
